


(My Children) Don't Worry, Take my Hand

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Found Family, Gen, Hints of Gallya, Reflecting on the team, Waverly centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 06:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: It's the most broken things that become the most beautiful.





	(My Children) Don't Worry, Take my Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diadema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadema/gifts).



> This was inspired by the song "There May be Tears" by Scott Cunningham Band which was shared with me by the lovely Diadema. It is to her that this story is humbly dedicated. 
> 
> Darling girl, I know that there will be tears, even when you do have the answers. But believe me when I say that it is going to be alright.

It’s the most broken things that become the most beautiful. Who was ever intrigued by a completed puzzle? It’s just another picture printed on cardboard; its eminence stems from the complex pieces, the way everything fit together just-so with a little bit of hard work and a focus on the future.

Waverly chuckled. The resemblance to his team was uncanny. He sat back in his office chair in London, looking over the dossiers of his top three agents: Gabriella Teller, Napoleon Solo, and Illya Kuryakin. All broken in their own right. All hell bent on redeeming themselves in one way or another. All fighting in a war so cold it burned.

It had been 6 months since UNCLE had been formed and, much to Waverly’s satisfaction, his agents were starting to see their broken pieces not as a weakness, something to be exploited or taken advantage of, but rather a blessing. Strength found in the darkest of places, a ray of hope serving as a reminder that they had survived once, and they would do so again.

Waverly thought back to his time running the MI5 Hong Kong office with a slight smile. It was there that he had discovered the Japanese art of Kintsugi, repairing broken pottery with gold. Instead of hiding their supposed imperfections, they were accentuated, emphasized. A treasure revitalizing the already beautiful earthenware with new life.

And what a way to run an agency. Take the broken, the fallen, the people whose countries had abandoned them and breathe into them an expectation of peace, the desire to leave the world better than the one they had been born into. If anyone imbued the mentioned qualities, it was these three agents. His three agents. There was something about this trio that warmed his heart and made him feel more or less paternal, despite his resolve to not get attached. He had never been so happy to have failed so miserably.

Without children of his own, Waverly had often contented himself with his many nieces and nephews as well as the occasional goldfish. He would never forget the day he had sat Miss Teller down for their weekly tea meeting and she had called him “Vati” without missing a beat. If it was a slip of the tongue, she never said. If it was a conscious pronouncement, he would never be more flattered.

Even the gentlemen had somehow found themselves a special place in Waverly’s heart. It didn’t surprise him in the least that both were drawn to Gaby like magnets, though, he couldn’t help but notice, one in an undeniably more romantic way than the other. But they themselves had developed a repartee that could only be described as affectionate. Their constant teasing, the back and forth witty banter, it was merely the tip of the iceberg in their decidedly amicable friendship. They even had endearing monikers if Gaby’s gossip she shared over tea had proven correct (and it nearly always was).

This wasn’t to say that UNCLE was without problems, heaven knows. Anxiety, depression, insomnia, migraines, disassociation, Red Mists- the list was nearly endless and would give any office therapist a run for their money. But in what was more than likely an unprecedented event in psychiatric history, putting the three together had done more good than harm. The number of angry phone calls from hotels regarding broken furniture had started to decline; monies and precious items were now hardly ever disappearing without a trace; even the fund Waverly had set aside specifically for in-room bars was barely touched. It was as if the burden they all carried had lightened under their presence. A memory exchange of the simplest degree, they traded suspicion for safety, horrors of war for harmony in teamwork, battle scars for butterflies.

The journey he had started, the agency that had the entire world watching, it was a lot for one man. No one knew where the road would lead or what the future would hold for this revolutionary triumvirate. With the cold war becoming warmer every day, it was a wonder they had lasted as long as they did. And yet, despite it all, there was a sense of immunity that Waverly couldn’t deny. They were bigger than two countries, bigger than ideological and political differences. Bigger even than the entire field of espionage that kept their wallets padded and their guns loaded.

Despite it all, they were striving for peace. For justice in all lands, and a world that moved beyond tolerance and directed themselves in a show of acceptance and love. 

It was a world worth fighting for after all. His three unruly and grown children believed in their mission. A trinity of faith in himself, in each other, and in the nature of humankind. They were the ones that proved it.


End file.
